There's Gotta Be More to Life
by gingerwhovianrobotskeleton
Summary: (Companion fic to "Breakfast & Books"): Isabella French isn't happy with the way her life is going.


_**A/N: This is just a little short to go with "Breakfast & Books". It's set right before chapter one of the story. This was inspired by **__**phoenixfeatherquill**__** on tumblr who issued a challenge to write a stand alone Belle fic WITHOUT have Rumpel appear in it as a response to the Belle-hate that certain Rumbelle fans have been dishing out to her... for ridiculous reasons x(. **_

_**I hope you guys enjoy. Consider this a treat for everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed the story so far :)**_

_**DISCLAIMER: I don't own**__** Once Upon a Time**__** or its characters.**_

It had been raining for the past few days in her small little town. The "open" sign to the Game of Thrones flower shop still hung on the door despite the fact nobody was coming in. _Just as well_, she had mused. There haven't been many customers anyway. A few bought flowers around the time of her father's death as a way of giving their condolences to her.

That had been two months ago.

Belle sat at a stool behind the counter as she read her copy of Edgar Allan Poe tales, which she found were exciting to read on a rainy day. It was more fun than waiting out phone calls from customers that were never coming. It stressed her out especially since the store was behind on their rent, and she had no way of paying it. Her book she wrote could only cover so much, especially since it didn't rank as high as she had hoped on the bestsellers list.

Her only option was to sell the place. Mr. Midason, who owned half of the chain stores in town, had made her father a pretty big offer for their shop, bur he always denied saying how it was a family business, and how he had expected Belle and her fiance Gary to run it one day. A couple of days after the funeral, he had stopped by to offer Belle the chance to sell the shop. He used pretty words saying how he "could see she was smarter that her father" and stuff like that. She had told him no, not in the mood to talk about her father at the time. Of course, he had left his card behind in case she changed his mind.

Gary hadn't helped out much with the shop as her father might have thought. He only stopped by every now and then to try and have a make-out session. Of course, she denied him saying she'd rather wait until they were home, and even then she didn't want to kiss him.

After reading The Raven, she closed the book and sighed, frustrated that she couldn't concentrate. It was in that moment, staring at the empty, soaked streets outside, seeing half-dead flowers stinking up the shop, and feeling the cheap engagement ring turning her finger green, she had realized something.

She wasn't happy.

This wasn't the life she wanted. She didn't want to run the flower shop. She didn't want to live the rest of her life in this small town, and she didn't want to marry Gary. The only reason she accepted all of this was to make her father happy. He barely batted an eyelash when she told him about her novel getting published.

He always thought her writing was only a hobby.

She had thought he was right about that when she saw the not-so-satisfactory sale numbers on _Something in the Attic_. It was her dream to write as many stories as possible and to have the chance to travel the world. She didn't see that happening. Maybe her book was a one shot thing…

Suddenly, her cell phone started ringing. She reached into her pocket hoping it was a customer and not Gary calling for phone sex… again.

she glanced at the caller id, and was shocked to see it read _Mary Margaret_, her literary agent.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Belle?" her voice perked up. "Hi there!"

"Hey," she replied, a smile slipping over her face. Mary's voice had that effect on her. "How are you?"

"I'm doing very, thanks," she said. "Just got done putting Emma to sleep."

"Oh, that's right," Belle nodded, almost forgetting about her newborn. "How is she and James doing?"

"Oh you know, waking up in the middle of the night, crying nonstop."

"Yeah, I've heard newborns were a handful."

There was a quick pause. "Actually, I was talking about James."

"Oh," Belle nodded. "So, any particular reason for calling?"

"Yes, of course," she replied quickly. Belle could imagine her nodding on the other end. "I wanted to talk to you about your next novel. How are the ideas going?"

She held back the urge to groan and bang her head against the counter. "Um…" she trailed off.

"Not very well, I take it," she finished for her.

"I'm sorry, Mary," Belle stood up and began walking around the room. "I want to write more, I really do. The ideas just aren't coming to me… Maybe I was only good for one story…"

"Isabella French," Mary Margaret began sternly, sounding more like a mother than a boss, "you are not allowed to put yourself down like that. You are a great writer, and everyone loved your book."

"Tell that to the New York Times," Belle said sarcastically.

"Belle, not everyone makes the list with their first novel," she explained. "Some of the best writers wait years for anything to get real recognition. What you need is a fresh start."

Belle stopped her pacing, standing next to a cactus. Her eyebrows quirked up. "What do you mean?"

"I warn you, I have a crazy idea. If you don't like it, feel free to say no."

"Ookaay…" Belle replied slowly, unsure of herself.

The line was silent for a moment before her agent began to tell her her idea. "I think you should move to New York City."

Belle's jaw dropped.

When she didn't give any response, Mary Margaret continued, "I told you it was crazy! I think moving to a different city you've never lived in before could help you out a great deal with your writing. You can think of it as a new adventure. Also, we would be able to meet more often to talk about your novel, which is great for me with the baby and all…" she paused to take a breath. "Belle? Are you still there?"

"Um…" was all she could respond.

"Oh, I thought the line went dead," she admitted. "So, what do you think?"

Belle nervously chewed on her lip. It all sounded nice, but… "Where would I live?" It was a ridiculous question, and she knew it. Of course she could easily find a place, but she had only lived in one house her whole life. How could someone who grew up in a small town survive in a large city such as New Your City?

"I had already thought of that," she chirped. "I stopped by the Blue Fairy Bookshop, and they had a notice in the window saying there was an apartment close by with an available room. I called the number and asked the landlord about it, and the rent price is reasonable. The money you're making now is enough for a bout six months, and I'm sure by that time you'll have a new story idea that'll be waiting to get published."

Belle had to sit down on the bench by the ficus to keep herself from fainting. Was this actually happening? "I guess everything is in order," she commented.

"You don't have to answer now," she informed. "Take a couple of days to think it through, and let me know, okay?"

"Of course."

After they said their goodbyes, Belle put the phone back into her pocket. She glanced around the flower shop once more, remembering how she use to over water some of the flowers when she was little. That's all this place felt like anymore; a life-sized photo album full of distant memories. She couldn't imagine leaving this place behind. What would her father think?

A light bulb went off in her head.

_It doesn't matter what he thinks anymore_, said a voice in her head she had blocked out for years. _This is _your_ shop, and you can do whatever you want with it._

The voice was right. Her father wasn't there to tell her what to do anymore. She didn't have to run this shop. She didn't have to live up to his expectations anymore. She could leave this town whenever she pleased.

And Gary? She looked down at the engagement ring he gave her. He didn't truly love her, nor did she love him. she wanted more out of life and relationships, and all he wanted from her was sex and to have someone attached to his arm as he walked the streets of their town. She pulled the ring off of her finger along with the weight she had been carrying for most of her life.

Mary Margaret's call was a Godsend. This was a giant door opening for her. This was her big chance to live the dream she never wanted to admit to out loud. Who was she to slam it back shut? What else did she have to lose?

She reached into her pocket and pulled her cell phone out again. She scrolled through her contacts and clicked on the contact she was looking for.

"Hello, Mr. Midason?" she asked. "… This is Belle French… I was wondering what the price you were offering for the flower shop was again…"


End file.
